


Alleyways and Kisses

by Idhreneth



Category: Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idhreneth/pseuds/Idhreneth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is so drunk he tries to sleep in an alleyway, but, at Courfeyrac's urging, stays with Enjolras for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alleyways and Kisses

Enjolras sang the loudest of his friends, the other students looking at him with admiration with every word of revolution that rang through the cafe. Euphoria swelled in his chest; this was going to work. He did not know how, or when, but somehow, it would.

His friends drank, but Enjolras did not - not much, anyway. He had much to plan when he finally retired to his apartment.

Some two or three hours since Enjolras' arrival that evening, Courfeyrac approached him; his confident stride was unfaltering, but there was something about him that was unsure.

Courfeyrac's lips were at Enjolras' ear, and when he spoke, it was loud enough for Enjolras to hear him over the drunken singing of his friends, but quiet enough that they would not be overheard. He said, in an unreadable voice, "Come with me."

Enjolras wondered for a moment if they would be missed, but, looking over at his friends, he noticed that Joly was giving the others a full report of all of the illnesses he had diagnosed himself with. Enjolras shook his head and followed Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac led him out of the cafe and down the street. They walked in silence, but Enjolras thought he heard his friend mutter, "Bastard." Enjolras quickened his pace when he saw that Courfeyrac did, his curiousity rising with the beat of their footsteps.

Suddenly, Courfeyrac turned into a narrow alleyway and stopped in front of a mass on the ground. After a moment, the mass gave a small hiccup, and Enjolras' stomach flipped as he realized who it was.

Grantaire lay curled in a fetal position in between the two walls of the alley, an empty bottle clutched in his fist. His face was pale and sweaty, his dark curls one big tangle, his clothing disheveled. Enjolras had never seen Grantaire look so wretched, which, Enjolras thought with a snort, was quite an achievment on his part. Grantaire's eyes had been closed, but when he felt a presence in front of him, he opened them and glanced upward.

"I told you, Courf," he said, his words slurred and his speech slow, "I am perfectly happy here. I'd like to get some sleep, so, if you don't mind, I'm not going with you."

"Perhaps not, but I have brought someone whose presence will please you much more than mine." Courfeyrac turned to Enjolras as Grantaire closed his eyes again, looking childlike and debauched at the same time. "You will take him in tonight, won't you?" The plea in his voice was unmistakable.

Enjolras' heart sank; there was simply no way he would get any work done with Grantaire hanging all over him, doing all he could to annoy Enjolras to the point where his life was practically in danger. "Why would I do that?"

"He likes you much better than he likes me." A vague smirk flashed for a moment across Courfeyrac's face, one that angered Enjolras, though he did not really know why. Courfeyrac's expression turned to one of pity as his eyes moved from Enjolras to the drunkard on the pavement. "Will you not help him?" Enjolras sighed.

"Can't we take him back to your apartment? I'll never get any work done!"

"We can't." Courfeyrac grinned brilliantly and mischievously. "I've got more than one beautiful woman waiting quite impatiently for my return." His grin grew wider when Enjolras rolled his eyes.

"Fine. But you'll have to help me get him there, and this will not happen often," Enjolras snapped, knowing he was defeated. Grantaire giggled without really knowing what was going on.

Courfeyrac raised Grantaire into a sitting position, then hooked his elbows underneath his armpits and hoisted him up. Grantaire was immediately violently sick on the pavement, and Enjolras groaned as his intoxicated friend coughed and sputtered. Grantaire's legs could barely support his weight, and his knees buckled underneath him as Courfeyrac struggled to keep him standing. Enjolras placed on of Grantaire's arms around his shoulders as Courfeyrac did the same, and they began their arduous journey to Enjolras' apartment.

"Remind me again how you convinced me to do this," Enjolras said through gritted teeth.

"You cannot pretend that you don't care for him, Enjolras." Courfeyrac said gently, looking around Grantaire's lolling head, trying to meet Enjolras' eyes. Enjolras scoffed inwardly. Didn't Courfeyrac know that Enjolras cared only for Patria, for France?

As if he had read Enjolras' mind, Courfeyrac murmured, "There is more to life than revolution, Enjolras."

Grantaire was not even somewhat helping their efforts; his feet dragged the ground as he let all of his weight fall onto his friends. He seemed to drift in and out of conciousness, his head nodding into his chest, then jerking up again.

Grantaire's feet knocked every step as they three climbed the stairs to Enjolras' rooms. After what seemed like an eternity from the time they had left the alleyway, but was really just a few minutes, Grantaire was lying haphazardly on Enjolras' bed, hiccuping pitifully.

Courfeyrac handed him a glass of water, which Grantaire eagerly recieved; that is, until he took a sip and realized it was simply water. He spat it across the floor, causing Enjolras to sigh exasperatedly. Courfeyrac looked at him apologetically, then took his leave with a word of thanks.

Enjolras bid Courfeyrac goodnight, casting a long look at Grantaire, who had abruptly fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep. Grantaire so obviously did not care for the revolution. There was no indication that he believed in their plans, their efforts. He did not think that a few students could make a difference. And perhaps he was right. For what, then, did he stay?

***

It was the middle of the night when Grantaire came to, surrounded by a dimly lit room that he did not recognize. He wracked his brain for any indication of how he may have ended up there, in vain - the last thing he remembered (somewhat) clearly was stumbling out of the cafe, with a bottle he had taken from Bossuet when he wasn't looking. He remembered snippets of lying on the ground, with Courfeyrac trying to persuade him to get up. Grantaire sighed quietly; he was becoming rather used to waking up in strange places.

Upon hearing this sigh, Enjolras, who had been facing away from the bed, writing at his desk by the dim light of a lamp, turned to face his drunken companion.

Grantaire grinned as he realized that he has awoken in Enjolras' apartment, instead of the house of a person he didn't know. Enjolras did not smile back, but scowled at the drunkard as he snapped, "Do you have any idea how absolutely smashed you are?"

"Yes." Grantaire looked all too pleased with himself for that reply, making Enjolras frown even more deeply. "Come now, Apollo, when am I not completely hammered?"

"That would be never," Enjolras retorted. "Tell me, Dionysus," - the most sarcastic stress he could muster fell upon Grantaire's new nickname - "do you even care for our cause?" Enjolras continued to glare, but was inwardly glad in a spiteful way when this comment caused Grantaire's smile to falter.

Grantaire did not answer. "That's what I thought," Enjolras said stiffly. This lit a spark in Grantaire's hazy mind; Enjolras did not understand his position, and he never would, Grantaire had to do something about that, and he had to do it now.

In one deft motion that was surprising due to the amount of alcohol coursing through his veins, Grantaire was standing to the side of the bed. He crossed the floorboards toward the revolutionary with a look of determination that surprised Enjolras more than a bit.

Quickly, Grantaire closed the space between them and lifted Enjolras' head to his. Enjolras' fury deepened, how dare he -

Grantaire closed his eyes, pressing his lips to Enjolras'.

Enjolras stiffened in shock; for a moment, Grantaire thought that Enjolras would push him off, and perhaps Enjolras thought so too, but, much to Grantaire's surprise, Enjolras leaned into the kiss, his lips much softer than Grantaire had imagined. And, oh, had Grantaire imagined. But those dreams were nothing compared to the real Enjolras, whose tongue was now flicking in and out of Grantaire's mouth, tasting the brandy on his breath. And it was then that Enjolras understood: Grantaire stayed for him.

Grantaire's fingers tangled themselves in Enjolras' blonde curls as Enjolras gripped his shirtsleeves, his lips becoming firmer and more urgent with each passing second - an eagerness that Grantaire never would have expected from the man who seemed to only love France. Grantaire's fingers smoothed Enjolras' hair and traveled down the back of his neck as Grantaire was stepping forward and pulling Enjolras in closer. Enjolras arched his back, his hands moving downward to grip Grantaire's waist. Had Enjolras been wishing for this, just as Grantaire had? Grantaire opened one eye; Enjolras' eyes were closed, his long eyelashes curling up from his cheeks in that angelic way that nearly drove Grantaire mad. The drunkard moaned low in his throat as the revolutionary's tongue flicked across his teeth.

It felt like it had been forever, yet not nearly long enough when Enjolras broke the kiss and cleared his throat, looking up and Grantaire like nothing had happened. Business as usual. "You'd better get some sleep," Enjolras said, but his voice was much more gentle than Grantaire had ever heard it. Grantaire nodded, laying back down on Enjolras' bed as Enjolras turned back to his writing.

When Grantaire dreamed that night, it was no different from any other night. He dreamed of Enjolras.

***

Grantaire awoke at some early morning hour to a cold compress being placed on his forehead and blankets being drawn around him. Somehow, before he fell asleep again, he realized that it was Enjolras who now tended to him.

Grantaire could not help thinking that this was a dream, but he thought he felt soft lips press gently against his cheekbone before he drifted into unconciousness.


End file.
